A New World Dream
by Serephita Dawndale
Summary: Taking a late night stroll, Lady Jaina Proudmoore finds herself with an unusual visitor. It's a figment of her imagination - or is it? (Note: I wrote this at around 3am, and I know the lore isn't quite spot on, I will be fixing that)


For more nights than she cared to think about, Lady Jaina Proudmoore would find herself leaving the sanctuary of her books in her tower to stand on the beach outside of Theramore. She would stand on the beach, closing her eyes and lifting her head up to the sky, the light of the two moons shining down on her. She was tall for a woman, standing around 5 foot 7, with blond hair that brushed a little past her shoulders. The color of the sunlight, Arthas had said on one of the lazy mornings when she had found herself waking up in his bed, her then fiancé smiling down at her as he watched her sleep.

It was nights like these, when she would stand silently and just let the moonlight bathe her and she could hear the sound of the ocean waves hitting the shore, that she would allow herself to break down - at least for a while – the walls she had built up around herself, hiding the pain of having to walk away from the man she loved. Opening her eyes, she looked out over the Great Sea, towards the Eastern Kingdoms. Briefly she thought about what had become of Lordaeron after she had escaped with those who were willing to follow. Arthas had invaded and killed his own father, and everyone else there that he could find. Resistance had been futile, although eventually he had been forced back to the frozen lands in Northrend, where he was still. Sylvanas, once a great ranger of the high elves, had become the Banshee Queen, ruler of the undead scourge who had broken the hold Arthas had over them.

She shuddered, thinking of Stratholme, and the poor inhabitants of that town. So many lives lost unnecessarily. Arthas had always been proud though, and she had made a difficult decision. Shaking her head, Jaina looked down for a moment, a small sad smile on her face. "Regrets and memories don't do anything to help the present," she murmured to herself.

Things hadn't been easy here in Theramore. Everyone had been uprooted from their homes around Menethil and Lordaeron, but there hadn't been much of a choice. Medivh had told her that she was the only hope now to save her people – Arthas and his father having failed to listen to the shape-shifting mage. Turning to sit on a rock nearby, Jaina sat back and closed her eyes again, leaning her hands behind her and relaxing and letting her mind wander.

In her mind, things had been different with Arthas. That fateful night, the night of Winter Veil when their engagement was to be announced, he did not turn away from her. Instead, when he asked her thoughts, he smiled and held her to him. He laughed as she gave potential names for their future children, teasing her about her choices in names. Uther, they had decided together finally. The name of their first-born son would be Uther, after the great paladin who had trained Arthas. The idea of a girl child being their first child hadn't even crossed either of their minds at that point. Of course, they would have at least three children though. Arthas' father was thrilled to find the happy couple quietly embracing each other, and Jaina's father Admiral Proudmoore was made a Duke. Of course he hadn't given up his life on the sea, but the birth of his first grandchild had made him realize maybe there were things on land that were more important than his life on the sea. So he had passed the mantle on to Jaina's brother, who was more than happy to take up for his father.

Years passed, and Lordaeron stayed a mostly peaceful kingdom. Arthas was a fair and just ruler, listening to all conflicts and doing what he saw best for his subjects. Young Uther was the spitting image of his father. When the Horde invaded, he was there next to Varian Wrynn and Sylvanas Windrunner, the three of them putting up a formidable front and pushing the orcs back through the portal from which they came.

There was no Lich King. Stratholme had been saved, and Jaina had never made a secret pact or met in hiding with the leader of the Horde, Thrall. Her father was alive, and she was with the man she had loved. Everything was perfect in her mind. And yet…and yet. Opening her eyes to look up at the stars, Jaina found her cheeks were wet with tears. Hastily reaching up to wipe away the wetness, she gave a small, almost bitter laugh. Dreams didn't build homes or put food on the table, her father had told her when she told him of her dream to study in Dalaran. He had loved his daughter, but everyone had their secrets. Some hurt more than others, though. Shaking her head, Jaina stood up and dusted off her skirts. She glanced over her shoulder towards Northrend.

Northrend…where Arthas sat now on his frozen throne. She shivered, a sudden breeze chilling her as it came off the ocean. The feeling of a cold embrace wrapped itself around her, and she wrapped her arms around herself. "_Jaina,_" came a soft voice, barely a whisper. Jaina froze, barely daring to breathe, feeling as though her heart had stopped. She knew that voice. How many times had she heard him whisper her name in love, or that final time when she turned her back on him, breaking the promise that she had made that first night they spent together in passion – 'I could never deny you anything'? "No," she said sternly. It was a trick of the mind, it had to be.

As if determined to show her that what she heard was real, a shape appeared. The cold embrace Jaina had felt seemed to move away and she realized that it wasn't just a breeze. There was a small cloud of mist, almost a wisp in front of her now. Eyes widening, Jaina found herself unable to look away. The shape was familiar…her knees trembling, she pulled herself up straighter and gritted her teeth. Proudmoores did now show their fear. They cowered before no one. As if pulled from her dreams and mind, the mist formed the shape of Arthas. Taking in a sharp breath, Jaina braced herself. "Jaina," it said softly. Naturally, the lips of the entity did not move, but Jaina heard the familiar voice just the same. "Arthas," she said quietly, a world of love and pain in that one name. It seemed as though the entity knew what she was feeling, it gave her a small, sad smile and a courtly bow, bending low and falling to one knee.

"I'm sorry, my princess," it said in her mind. Was there a hint of sadness that she detected? Shaking her head, she took a deep breath. "I don't know what you want, but it would be in your best interest to leave," she said coldly. "I don't have time for your games, whoever you truly are."

The image stood, and seemed to float closer to her, close enough that if she reached out a hand, she could touch it. Part of her ached to do so, to see if it really was Arthas there, although her mind knew this had to be some sort of trick. Her mind was so lost in the idea of being torn between wondering what it would feel like and repressing the urge to touch, that she almost missed what it said. "I don't have much time," came the urgent barely-there whisper. "Jaina," her head snapped up to meet its eyes, the same blue eyes that had shown her how much Arthas loved her, and turned away from her in cold anger when she refused to condone his burning of an entire city, thus playing into the Lich King – and ultimately, the Burning Legions – plans for his future. "My princess, my golden sun," it continued. "I know you're hurting. I wish that I had listened to you. Just remember…I never left you," and with that, it leaned in. Instinctively, Jaina tilted her head up and closed her eyes. The faintest brush of warm lips touched hers, and a gentle touch on her cheek. When she opened her eyes a moment later, the mist had lost its shape, and was dissipating. Blinking back tears, Jaina took an unsteady breath, and tucked her hair behind one ear again. "I love you, too," she whispered softly, knowing he could no longer hear her.

Reaching into her pocket, Jaina pulled out a small scrap of fabric. She had never been much for sewing, but she had tried to teach Arthas, just in case he found himself in need of bandaging himself or someone else when a priest or other healer was not available. The small piece of fabric was worn with care, and in very careful – if a little clumsy – stitching were their initials. JP and AM, entwined. Hastily placing it back into her pocket, Jaina picked up her skirts and headed back to the safety of Theramore, inside of the gates.

She dared not look back, afraid of…what, exactly? A ghost that might have been a figment of her imagination? Nodding absent-mindedly to the guards watching the gates as she passed them, she made her way to her tower and up to her room. It was small, but it suited her well. Looking around, she felt a pang of sadness. As much as this place was home now, it would never compare to what she had been forced to leave behind. Not that it mattered now, for this is where her life was, and she had a future here. Reaching into her pocket again, Jaina took out the scrap of fabric. Once more, she felt a pang in her heart. Arthas had been so proud of himself, making such a simple piece for her. Calling up a small mage light, Jaina held the piece up to it, once again trying to see if there was some unseen clue that could have given her a hint of what her and Arthas' future had been holding. As always, there was nothing. Crossing her room to a small bookcase with her most private collection, she reached gently for a worn book, with a plain dark brown leather binding. Smiling again, she doubted that anyone even knew she had ever kept something so personal – much less that she had kept it for all this time. Opening it to a seemingly random page, she ran her hands gently over the words. "I saw Prince Arthas for the first time today," the entry stated, in a childish scrawl. "He's very handsome. I told Papa that I would marry him someday. He laughed, and told me that he was sure I would, if I put my mind to it," the entry went on from there, going on about how she would be queen and everyone would love her, and how lavish the wedding would be, with King Llane and Prince Varian there as well. Musicians, the food…everything. Laughing softly at herself, Jaina pressed the simple cloth with the embroidery into the book, for safekeeping.

Closing it gently, she sat on the stool in front of the desk by the bookcase, and looked out the window over the water. How things had changed, how her dreams hadn't been all that she was hoping for. Then again, things rarely ever went as planned, did they. Glancing wryly at the hourglass on her desk, she stood and stretched, before placing the book back on the shelf, her fingers lingering on the spine. Whispering a small word of magic, the book blended into the two surrounding it. While there was nothing in there anyone could use against her for a spell, some things were not meant to be read or seen by others prying eyes. Putting out her mage light, Jaina began to undress and prepare for bed. Tonight had been unlike any other, but tomorrow was a new day. A new day in a new life, where she would again don the mantle of leader of this small city-state she had built, and again try to put the past behind her. Tomorrow.


End file.
